


Blue

by someonestolemyshoes



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Blood, Blue - Freeform, Death, F/M, LeviHan Week, beaty, enjoy lmao, levihanweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4670024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonestolemyshoes/pseuds/someonestolemyshoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He tells her on a Wednesday in September, supine on the moss-heavy ground with sunlight streaming through thin, brittle branches and dappling the greenery in bright white and orange and yellow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to write fluff and it just...morphed out of control

He tells her on a Wednesday in September, supine on the moss-heavy ground with sunlight streaming through thin, brittle branches and dappling the greenery in bright white and orange and yellow.

It’s warm, humid and still and Hange lies to his right, goggles pushed up to her forehead as she squints through the leaves to the clear sky above. She is a mosaic, patterns of cuts and bruises and scars welting her face and neck, bleeding over the skin beneath her collar and out of sight. Thin morning light shades the hollows of her cheeks, illuminates dark, bag-bruised eyes and settles in the dip of her throat and the curve of her jaw and the sight makes an ache sink deep in Levi’s gut.

He does not speak, because Levi has never been good with words, and instead he heaves the weight of his demons into a long, drawn sigh that has Hange’s head pivoting round to face him.

Grass licks up over her cheek, straying close to a thick, sutured wound trailing the length of her nose and catching at the corner of her mouth. She blinks, slow and owlish and his breathe sticks in his lungs, chokes in his throat.

She smiles, wide and sincere and it pinches at her stitches, truncates the wound until it peels open, just a little, where it curves over her top lip and out onto the deeper, thicker flesh of her face.

The words slip out without thought or intention and he’s not sure, at first, if they’re even loud enough for her to hear because she doesn’t respond, not right away, and he listens to his own voice – weaker, raw and more tender than usual – drift away with the breeze and only when the wind settles does Hange reply.

She acknowledges him with a kiss, feather light and barely there, and he’d have thought he’d imagined it, some twisted mirage, if it weren’t for the clinical, metallic tang on his tongue when he licks at his lips.

“Thank you,” she says, and sunlight glints from honey-brown eyes when she rolls her gaze from his mouth to his stare. “I mean,” she adds, and one porcelain hand lifts from the ground to wave at the hash of wounds decorating her features, “I’m anything _but_ beautiful, especially now, but it’s nice that you think so.”

Levi grunts, bites back the urge to argue, and he kisses her again. Medical thread scratches at his lips and Hange hisses when he presses too hard, shifts her head and quirks her mouth, equal parts impish and sheepish as she breathes her apology. Levi shrugs her off, shakes his head, and twists his eyes up through the canopy overhead to peer at the sky.

It is cloudless, flecks of the brightest blue peeking through a patchwork of greens and browns and Hange lets out a sigh beside him, light and content and everything his own wasn’t.

“Blue is my favourite colour, I think,” she says, and when Levi lolls his head to one side to look at her her eyes are gleaming. “It’s just so _open_ , you know? Freeing.”

“No,” Levi says, and when Hange laughs there is something strange to it; an underlying hacking, as though she were choking.

“The sky is the biggest, most expansive thing I know,” she says, “it’s never-ending. Even when the land trails away in the distance, the sky just keeps going. It’s _amazing_.”

“It’s not always blue,” Levi says, and Hange nods her agreement.

“True,” she rolls her eyes to look at him, quick and sharp, and then they dart back up to the trees. She lifts an arm, and thin rivulets of blood trail over the skin, spreading and weaving down her wrist and past her elbow and Levi watches with a frown. “But it looks best when it’s blue. Clearest. Looks like you could swim in it, get lost in it.”

“You’re bleeding again,” he says. Hange ignores him.

“And the ocean,” she continues, “the ocean is blue. In all the illustrations, that is. I can’t think of anything _more_ freeing than the ocean.”

She drops her head to the side once more and a thick, oozing stream runs out of her nose, smearing over her lips and across her teeth and it maps down her cheek, creeps over her jaw and more rivers join it, from her ears this time, curling in tight tendrils around her neck and settling in the hollow of her throat.

“You’re eyes, too.” She spits blood with the words, watery red droplets spraying from her teeth and gathering in the corners of her mouth. “They’re blue.”

“And what’s _freeing_ about that?” His voice is shaking, tight and wheezing and Hange laughs, chokes again, coughs up a syrupy, bright mouthful of blood that froths and foams where it settles on the grass.

“Humanities strongest,” she says, and it’s barely a hiss. Levi has to lean closer to hear her and he can smell iron, thick and cloying, stinging his nostrils and burning his throat. “Freeing in the poetic sense, I guess. You give us hope.”

“Stab in the dark there, shitty glasses,” he breathes, and Hange is shaking, body stiff and strained and convulsing, sutures spreading and tearing until the wound is open once more, leaching blood that drips onto the saturated grass beneath them.

Her clothes are wet, mushrooms of blood blooming over the fabric at her legs and on her chest and Levi watches the colour drain from her skin, watches white turn grey and seep into blue and he thinks, as her chest falls still and her eyes grow empty, that maybe blue _is_ freeing after all.

But this isn’t the kind of freedom Hange was wishing for.

* * *

 

“Levi?”

Levi blinks.

He is still in the canopy, sunlight bleeding through a medley of sticks and leaves and thick, twisting branches and the sky is still blue, so blue, mottled between an earth-toned collage.

But Hange is not beside him.

Instead, a pair of large, boot-clad feet sink into the mossy earth, and Levi follows the length of leather and legs until he’s squinting up at a head of combed, blonde hair and blue, critical eyes, watching him with something like concern.

“We have a meeting in ten minutes,” he says, and then, with creased brows and an apprehensive lilt to his tone, he adds, “what are you doing?”

Levi drops his cheek to the ground, lets his eyes stray over the grass and it flickers in and out of focus where the sunlight lands; light, dry green and wet, heavy red, back and forth and back and forth until his head is swimming. He clears his throat, narrows his eyes, and stares past Erwin and up to the mesh overhead.

“She likes it here,” he says, and then amends, “liked. She liked it here.”

Erwin nods in his periphery, casts his eyes to his feet in respect.

“She liked the way the sky looked.” Levi coughs around something thick and tight in his throat. “Said it was like seeing the world through cracks in an eggshell.”

“Poetic,” Erwin says, “considering where we are and what we’re fighting for.”

“Metaphorical bullshit,” Levi says, and he scrubs a hand over his cheek and sits up. “What day is it?”

“Wednesday.”

“Fuck,” Levi breathes. He is bone tired, aching, heavy and leaden and hollow all the same, and Erwin holds out his hand to help him off the ground. Levi waves him away, pushes himself to his feet and tilts his head back, eyes to the sky.

“See you later,” he says, and some exhausted, sickly part of him wishes that statement weren’t true.

* * *

 

He tells her on a Thursday in September, supine on the moss-heavy ground with sunlight streaming through thin, brittle branches and dappling the greenery in bright white and orange and yellow.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, whispers onto the wind, and Hange kisses him, trails the first drops of blood across his lips and this time, Levi doesn’t even bother to tell her.

**Author's Note:**

> surprise surprise she's dead and I'm awful 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you're all enjoying levihan week and all the awesome fics/art/translations/meta that are coming with it!


End file.
